To-morrow comes; 'tis noon, 'tis night; The gaming allusion of the first stanza reminds us of Mr. Sala's† picture of a certain devotee at the roulette table at Hombourg, who kept his seat -tranquil, immovable, vigilant,-the Napoleon of roulette; in whose victorious progress Marengos and Austerlitzes succeeded each other, as if Moscow and the Beresina were phantoms-as if to-morrow would never come. "To-morrow; ay, that dread to-morrow that comes to all: the fateful Demain of Victor: Demain est la sapin du trône, Aujourd'hui c'en est le velours. Yes, to-morrow is the coarse deal, with its ten sacks, that forms the framework of the throne, as to-day is its velvet and gilding. Demain c'est le coursier qui s'abat plein d'écume; C'est not' vieille garde qui jonche au lointain la plaine, Demain c'est le tombeau!" And yet to-morrow was, for good or bad, for better for worse, a favourite phrase with Napoleon. His last words to Murat at nightfall, in the hope of battle with the Russians on the Dwina next day, were, "To-morrow, at five, the sun of Austerlitz!" After the combat of Reichenbach,§ which lost him Duroc, he sat alone, in moody meditation, neither speaking nor to be spoken with; appealed to in vain for orders by Caulaincourt and Maret: "To-morrow-everything," was the only answer their most urgent demands could wring from him, in his hour of dejection and theirs of need. In another mood was the Emperor when, after Leipsic, he pressed the Austrian cabinet to side with him, and at once. If they were wise, he said, they would do so forthwith. They could do so, he told their representative, that evening. To-morrow it might perhaps be too late; for who could foretel the events of to morrow? So thought Sunderland, in that " agony of terror," almost overwrought or over-coloured, perhaps, by Macaulay, which impelled him to resign office, in a sort of frenzied haste. He had asked some of his friends to come to his house that he might consult them; they came at the appointed time, but found that he had gone to Kensington, and had left word that he should soon be back. When he joined them, they observed that he had not the gold key which is the badge of the Lord Chamberlain, and asked where it was. "At Kensington," answered Sunderland. They found that he had tendered his resignation, and that it had been, after a long struggle, accepted. They blamed his haste, and told him that since he had summoned them to advise him on that * Poems of Matthew Prior: To the Hon. Chas. Montague. Make your Game. § May, 1813. July 26, 1812. "To-morrow," he day, he might at least have waited till the morrow. A signal contrast the despairing Minister presents to the poet's picture of credulous hope which ever promises a morrow better than to-day (like the voluptuaries branded by the Hebrew prophet,† who hug themselves in the assurance that To-morrow shall be as this day, and much more abundant): Credula vitam Spes fovet, ac melius cras fore semper ait."+ They say that To-morrow never comes. The great Greek Father with the golden mouth seems to have based an ethical warning on this thought, when he bids us defer not till to-morrow, for to-morrow is a vanishing quantity. Μὴ εἰς τὴν ἄυριον ἀναβαλλον· ἡ γαρ ἄυριον ουδέ ποτε λapßável Téyos. § The moral is one with that of the Latin satirist-though he makes to-morrow come fast enough, one per diem,-and go quite as fast as it came : -Cum lux altera venit, That To-morrow never comes, is one of the phrases ventilated by Swift in his Polite Conversation; where that supreme wag, Mr. Neverout (whose very name is a caution), tells Miss that he'll make her a fine present one of these days; and on her professing her scepticism as to that, in terms that would now be called the high-polite style, the fine gentleman reassures her, "No, miss, I'll send it to-morrow." "Miss. Well, well; to-morrow's a new day; but I suppose you mean to-morrow comes never."¶ She might have asked at him (Scoticè) with the epigrammatist, Dic mihi, cras istud, Posthume, quando veniet?** Matter-of-fact people will tell you that To-morrow does come, and fix by their stop-watch the instant of its arrival. Nay, they can appeal to the primus inter poetas for poetical verification of their view. Says the Messenger to the Provost, while it is yet dark, on the morning which is appointed to be Claudio's last, "Good morrow; for, as I take it, it is almost day." And so with the peers who enter sleepless King Henry's chamber, at the hour they name: Warwick. Many good morrows to your majesty. K. Hen. Is it good morrow, lords? War. 'Tis one o'clock, and past. K. Hen. Why then, good morrow to you all, my lords.‡‡ But, in its own sense, the saying holds good, and is good sense too, that To-morrow never comes. One might take for emblem of its import the touching story told by Southey,§§ of a lady on the point of marriage, *Macaulay, History of England, vol. viii. ch. xxiii. Polite Conversation, Dialogue i. tt Measure for Measure, Act IV. Sc. 2. Second Part of King Henry IV., Act III. Sc. 1. † Isaiah lvi. 12. || Persius. **Martial. §§ And by him borrowed from Dr. Uwins, in his Treatise on Diseases of the Brain. whose affianced husband usually travelled by the stage-coach to visit her, and who, going one day to meet him, found instead of her betrothed an old friend, despatched to announce to her his sudden death. She uttered a scream, and piteously exclaimed-"He is dead!" But then all consciousness of the affliction that had befallen her ceased. From that fatal moment she had daily, for fifty years, at the time Dr. Uwins wrote, and "in all seasons, traversed the distance of a few miles, where she expected her future husband to alight from the coach; and every day [adds the doctor, writing in the then present tense] she utters in a plaintive tone, "He is not come yet! I will return to-morrow."* To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow-that to her never was, but always was to be. Why, and how, To-morrow never comes, might be discussed in a strain of transcendental metaphysics. Mr. Carlyle, in a memorable chapter headed Natural Supernaturalism, expounds in his mystic suggestive way the philosophic thesis, that Time and Space are but creations of God,-with Whom as it is a universal HERE, so it is an everlasting Now. And as regards Man: is the Past annihilated, or only past? is the Future non-extant, or only future? "The curtains of Yesterday drop down, and the curtains of To-morrow roll up; but Yesterday and To-morrow both are. Pierce through the Time-element, glance into the Eternal."t It is but a glance the strongest eye can take, in that direction. But even a glance may secure a glimpse of things which filmy, unpurged, downlooking eye hath not seen, nor ear heard-for they seem to involve unspeakable words, which it is not lawful for a man to utter. To-morrow thou hast never seen; to thee it has never come. But it shall come. And it that shall come, will come; and will not tarry. Wait the great teacher, death. CRAS iterabimus æquor: to-morrow we shall be sounding our dim and perilous way across the dark waters of that fathomless sea. If the prospect appals, happy he that can adapt to his own hopes, in serenest confidence, yet eager anticipation,-as he speculates on what a day, and the Better Land, may bring forth: To-morrow, to fresh woods, and pastures new. *See chapter lxxxi. of "The Doctor." 148 SOCIETY IN WASHINGTON. BY "OUR OWN" CORRESPONDENT. I.-A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. THE Miscellany and myself have been friends for many years; hence, when I went across to America, it was with a settled determination to send home any quantity of interesting copy. This promise has been upbraiding me for the last two years, and if you, respected Mr. Editor, were to ask me why I have not fulfilled it long ago, I should be obliged to write in reply a regular book about the manners and customs of the Americans, and for that I have no time. As, however, years may elapse ere leisure to do so be afforded me, I will not wait any longer, but set to work at once to pay my debt, if only in half-a-crown monthly instal ments. I had better call the stuff I intend to send you, more or less regularly, "Gossip," so that the reader may at once form a correct idea of the nature of my contributions. My sole object is to amuse, and at the same time spread a knowledge of American customs, people, and affairs, through the medium of your pages. What I record is the result of personal observation, and, in consequence, I trust that the frivolity of my style will be overlooked. In truth, it is nearly impossible to write otherwise. I cannot select a better starting-point than a marriage. I will group my thoughts round the bride, and hang on other ideas wherever I find an opening. The bride is Kate Chase, daughter of our secretary of the treasury; and the bridegroom, the ex-governor of Rhode Island, Colonel Sprague, at present United States senator. Kitty Chase has pleased me most of all the American ladies, and she is a universal favourite here. I regret my dislike for formal parties, or else I might have more to tell you. In my desk lie some dozen undelivered letters of introduction, to men like Montgomery Blair, the president-maker; General Fremont, &c. I had no letter for Chase, but what my friends told me about him and his daughter rendered me very desirous to be introduced to them. Obtaining a note for Miss Albrecht, the dame de compagnie of Miss Chase, I sent in my card, and a young lady joined me, whom I at first took for Miss Albrecht; it was, however, Miss Chase, who helped me most kindly over my trifling social dilemma. She offered me her hand with great cordiality, and said, "We have so many mutual friends that I cannot regard you as a stranger." Was not this amiable, kind, and gracious? It appeared doubly so to me, as I read in her beautiful eyes that the words did not merely come from her lips, but from her heart. Since that day I have spent many evenings at her house. Kitty Chase is of middle height, but looks as if she would grow tall, for she is extremely slim, almost thin; but the fact does not strike you, as her face is plump, and her chest very full. Her face is oval, and her features are irregular; her nose is retroussée, and her chin rather too long; but the eyes-whose colour I could never determine, owing to their brilliancy-are large and enchanting, and so is the expression of the pretty mouth. The head is finely formed, and her auburn hair is simply arranged, in accordance with the rest of her toilette. Her demeanour is graceful, and her behaviour in society is unconstrained, cordial, and rather dignified. She prefers the society of gentlemen to that of ladies, and cares little what people think about it, who, of course, do not fail to whisper all sorts of things, as is the case with every lady here who holds an exalted position in society. Kitty Chase is fond of sensible conversation, and recently I heard her talking philosophy very cleverly with an amiable young secretary of the president. Her mother has long been dead, and Miss Chase, it is said, has great influence over her father, who prefers the advice of his clever daughter to that of many of his counsellors, and hence her recommendation is of great weight. On my first visit, Miss Chase introduced me to her father. If you have an American one-dollar note by you, have the goodness to look at it. Upon it is an excellent likeness of the "Father of the Greenbacks," as the press have christened him. Mr. Salmon P. Chase is a stately, rather tall man, with a broad bald forehead, and a clean-looking beardless face, with a pleasant expression. His two daughters-the younger of whom is still at school-are very like him. Secretary Chase does not speak loudly, but quietly, and his manner produces a very pleasing impression. Although he is at the head of the extreme left wing of the ex-republican party, and fanatic abolitionists-in whose eyes political insanity glares-have collected under his banner, no trace of fanaticism is to be found in Chase's eye; his abolitionism has rather a political than a philanthropic hue, and he employs it as a steam-engine to convey him into the White House. The secretary of the treasury lives in a moderately large corner-house. The house door is always open: on the left of the hall is the secretary's private study, and facing it the two parlours, which have been formed into one room by removing the folding-doors. These parlours are the reception room, and are furnished comfortably. There is nothing very grand about them, and it can be seen at once that a feminine taste presided over the arrangements: this is more especially visible in the numerous flowers dispersed about the rooms. On one occasion I noticed on a table a bouquet of wild wood and field flowers, which few American ladies holding Miss Chase's position would dream of gathering. The marriage between Miss Chase and Governor Sprague was a favourite plan of the secretary, and had been arranged two years previously but Mr. Sprague seemed to prefer playing the knight-errant for a while longer in the mazes of love, whose paths are paths of pleasantness, when a man is young, governor of a state, and owner of several million dollars, which his father acquired by a diligent course of cotton spinning. Miss Chase, too, seemed in no especial hurry: all the men who visited her father's house admired her, and handsome major-generals and captains waited on her on foot and on horseback: what more could she desire? The cautious father, however, who had saved no millions as secretary of the treasury, had different ideas: in short, I was invited to the wedding last November. On the card could be read, "Mr. Salmon P. Chase at home between nine and twelve o'clock on the night of November 12." The marriage ceremony was performed in the house, but as I did not arrive till ten o'clock, I missed it, but endured the loss. The company |